


so sorry my love sick heart

by fated_addiction



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop, Real Person Fiction, SM Entertainment | SMTown, f(x)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, Romance, alternative universe, omg this story though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Soojung believes in omens.</i> She hates blind dates too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so sorry my love sick heart

**Author's Note:**

> For [coastreds](http://coastreds.tumblr.com/). Because a) she made me a mix [here](http://coastreds.tumblr.com/post/129016396990/coastreds-we-go-back-for-absenthere-whenever) that is insanely amazing and appropriate and something that I've been obsessively listen too -- as well as humoring all my Krystal/Chen/Suho needs because that's just as insane too.
> 
> Anyways. This story just wouldn't stop. Apparently, I just really, really, really like Cop AUs and AUs in general. Or just need help. But hopefully, you enjoy and go tell May how amazing her mix is because I said it is. And It makes me feel a little less crazy about this.
> 
> Enjoy!

Soojung believes in omens.

She hasn't exactly worked out why she is sitting alone, in her apartment, with a giant baseball bat -- give her time; she's pragmatic enough to put together culprits and facts. There's a problem though. She considers her week at large: four exams at the top of the semester, the longest shift at her internship, and a blind date set up by her mother because you promised, Soojung-ah. Be a good daughter.

"I'm going crazy," she says into the phone. She is standing on her couch, gripping the handle of her bat. "Seriously -" She tries to assess the situation, but all she can focus on is the window and the light that comes in from her neighbor, across the courtyard.

Amber laughs sleepily. "Dude, it's an old building. Maybe you just have mice. Get a cat."

"I'm allergic," she says. Somewhere in the apartment, she hears the floorboards moan again. It's an old building. The rent is cheap and it's close enough to the university.

"That's so not true." Her best friend sighs on the other line. She yawns. "Why do you always call me?"

"You're the closest," she answers easily. "Sooyeon can't do anything from New York, Qian-eonni is in China, visiting her parents. My mom will just tell me I have scoliosis again."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. And somehow got me to agree to a blind date tomorrow with her friend's son's son."

"That sounds complicated." Amber is dry. "Did you email me the notes for class?"

There is a crack against the wall near her bathroom. Soojung doesn't flinch. She jumps enough to grip her bat a little too tightly.

"Since I'm up," Amber adds, "I should probably study."

Soojung sighs. "If I get murdered, I'll haunt you forever," she mutters, moving into the kitchen. She leans the bat against the counter, turns on all the lights, and flips open her laptop. "I mean it," she adds. "Then you'll have to take your own damn notes for the rest of the semester."

Amber just laughs.

In front of her, the computer screen flickers. She pauses for a moment, wide-eyed and waiting for another moment of perpetual doom. It settles though and she moves to her television, turning it on with reruns and filler noise. She will end writing two of her papers tonight, she thinks.

"This is a sign," Soojung mutters.

"What now?"

She walks around to the kitchen, picking up the bat for reassurance. She leans it closer to her legs and frowns as her laptop flickers off again, rubbing her eyes.

"My laptop," she tells Amber. "I need to get a new one. I think it's ready to die too. Or it's warning me about my blind date tomorrow."

"You need to go to bed," Amber says, and Soojung sighs, sighs hard because there is no way she is going to sleep tonight. 

She turns, checks the clock on her stove, and decides to call it ghosts.

You can't be too sure, of course.

 

 

 

 

He is not her type.

The waiter brings their table a second basket of bread, passing a sympathetic look in her direction. Soojung is sure that the entire restaurant, judging by the amount of carbs she has consumed in the last twenty minutes, is well-aware of the fact that she may actually be on the world's worst date.

She loves her mother. "So," she tries again, watching her date text away on his cellphone. "Your name is Suho..."

"Yeah," he says. "It's a nom de plume."

"That's excessive," she mutters.

She sneaks a glance at him again. Starts from the top, then remembers that her mother has a future son-in-law type -- straight laced, solid and basically pressed into a designer suit, with a smile that is bright enough to make her appropriately nervous. He has all of these things, but she's wondering if he comes attached to his phone.

"I write a lot," Suho tells her. He finally looks up at her, his gaze unreadable. His head tilts to the side and he studies her. "I'm good," he says. "And, you know, family secrets --"

"You're weird," she corrects. "And you sound like a drama..." Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "I'm a little concerned about my mother's taste," she says too.

He laughs.

It catches her off guard. She doesn't know why. He leans forward, steals a piece of bread from the basket, and tosses his phone to the side.

"I'm concerned about my mother's taste too," he agrees. Asshole, she thinks. "But we might as well make the best out of it."

She scoffs. "For what? We've barely ordered anything but bread and water."

"You're a free meal girl," he nods, tapping his head. Suho seems more amused by this than anything else. "Otherwise too good for these dates, and yet, here you are --"

"Dude," she interrupts, leaning over the table. She snatches up his phone, watching his eyes widen in panic. Good, she thinks. Be worried. "We just spent twenty minutes in silence because of your phone. This is not an added limb," she's patronizing enough to start an exit and knows that she's uncomfortable enough to really dig deep for the bitch that everyone thinks she is. "And I really don't want to sit here and make the best out of it with you because, well, you seem like a dick."

She throws his phone back onto the table, grabs her purse, and slides out of her chair. She isn't the type to make a scene; gritting her teeth, she bows her head because Soojung has always been a sensible girl. She's being melodramatic enough for it to get back to her mother, which, of course, it will anyway. But this isn't her.

Soojung looks down at him, disappointed. He's caught his phone. He's watching her curiously though, with some amusement even. He leans back in his chair and almost looks sorry for her. She's reading too much into it, she tells herself, or maybe she just wants to see something there.

"Suho-ssi," she bows her head.

On the way home, she buys herself a frozen yogurt. The strawberry flavor is a little sorry and a little bland. It hits the roof of her mouth and it is so not what she wanted right now. She almost calls her sister, but remembers it's too early in New York still.

She will not think about this again, she tells herself.

 

 

 

 

The rain does wake her up first. Her eyes open blearily. The sheets hang off the side of her bed; she is missing a sock. When she turns to sit up, she spots the black dress she wore on her date, crumpled onto the floor with a pair of heels that she never gave back to Sooyeon.

"So it was real," she mutters.

Something falls outside her bedroom door.

She pauses. Her hand immediately goes to the bat by the bed. She can hear Amber laughing in her head, but wraps her fingers around the handle tightly. She listens to a door shut. In her kitchen.

Oh god.

Instinctively, Soojung should open her window that leads out to her fire escape. It's a terrible idea, considering it's started to rain and when she stands up, carefully, _quietly_ , she sees flecks of water smack against the glass. And it's windy too. Great, she thinks. It's a safety hazard too.

There's a voice then. She distantly registers the sound. It's low. She _is_ hearing it right and she feels herself leave her body, little by little, because what is she supposed to go and do -- hey how are you, why the hell are you in my apartment when you don't pay _rent_. Not that it would matter if she's being robbed, then she should probably keep her mouth shut.

Against her better judgment, she starts to walk to her door. She hears another voice. The pitch is different. Higher, maybe. Her fingers curl around her door knob and she gives it a tug. She forgets about her phone in her bed and is already planning her eulogy in her head too because, well, why not, why not?

She makes it to the hallway. And regrets not wearing socks.

"At least it's a clean apartment."

Her eyes narrow and she pulls the bat up by her shoulder. She hears another voice.

"I'm surprised," it's a higher voice, "I wouldn't have pegged her for it."

In a perfect world, she would have already called the cops. In fact, she would have climbed out of the fire escape and told her mom I told you so, I told you so; and then bought a ticket to New York, since the safest place is with her sister and her crazy love life, no matter where on the globe.

But Soojung is not that girl and mistake or not, she always sees things through.

She's quiet enough to cut into the corner of the hallway, at the end and close enough to see what exactly is going on in her living room out of all places. She cuts out all the voices in her head and takes in what is happening: there are two guys, one with his back to her, another by the window, looking out into the courtyard and possibly her neighbors. She sees a suitcase. There is a gun on her coffee table, also equally reassuring.

Her grip on the bat tightens. She digs her fingers into the back of her hand, stepping quietly into the living room.

"Are you sure, hyung, that this --"

Soojung swings at the first body in front of her, hitting him in the legs. Hard.

It happens too fast. Someone cries out. Then there's a gun at her head, the second guy wide-eyed as the other one just crumples to the floor. She does not let go of her bat; she'll have to call her dad, she thinks, and thank him for that at least.

"Hyung," says guy with the gun, "I thought you took care of this --"

Guy on the floor turns, gripping his thigh. His gaze is dark. She recognizes Suho immediately, her expression darkening.

"I _knew_ it," she hisses. "You were a total psychopath."

Guy with the gun laughs and pulls the gun away, sliding it into a holster. Then, slowly, he gently tries to pry the bat away from.

"Let's talk," he soothes.

"Only if I can hit him again," she snaps. She backs away from the other guy slowly. "On the principle and because of his stupid name."

The other guy laughs harder. His fingers are careful, cool even, as he unwraps her hand and she has the presence of mind to notice the badge around his neck. Her eyes widen slightly and he frees the bat, leaning it against the wall behind him.

"Oh," she says.

He nods. "Yeah." He points to his badge. "I'm a detective," he tells her, shooting a look over her head. He doesn't hide his amusement. "It seems like we have a lot to talk about."

At some point, Suho gets off the floor. She knows it's Suho because it's the same, stupid dinner jacket and his phone is on her coffee table, right next to some of her textbooks and she wonders if this is violating some sort of civil right that she can throw at his face. It takes a little longer for her to really put it together, maybe throw together an apology because she did, well, hit him in the leg with a bet.

"You," she manages.

He glares at her. Then she sees his badge too, hanging tucked into his coat.

Soojung decides she has a headache.

 

 

 

The facts are this: Suho, who has a real name, but won't tell her on principle, is a detective and his partner, Kim Jongdae -- "Call me, Jongdae," he says warmly -- has spent the last twenty minutes trying to apologize for what seems to be a big clusterfuck of a case. There is something about her neighbor, one of them, and a drug ring or not a drug ring that they can't tell her about, which, well, okay. Soojung can't decide if she's having an out of body experience or just losing it.

"You could have asked," she says, out loud for the millionth time. She's frank enough for Suho to glare at her. "Told me it was my civic duty or something," she continues, pouring herself cereal.

The kitchen seems to be the most rational place to have this conversation anyway. She's a good hostess. Jongdae takes his tea black, which is a surprise. Suho asks for vitamin water and she ends up pointing to her fridge for him to get. She is going to hold the date over his head, of course.

"Or told me that I could have a paid, free vacation ..."

Jongdae grabs a laptop, positing it over the breakfast nook. "Would you have believed us?" he asks, amused.

Soojung shrugs. "Probably not..." Her mouth sets firmly. "But still."

She has decided to go with this, whatever this is. She can pretend she has a choice in the matter because it'll rationalize the fact that two police officers broke into her apartment without any sort of grounds other than there's a bad guy in the area. She manages to gather that they're doing some kind of surveillance first. It's one of the neighbors in the second building, she gets that too. And apparently, the best vantage point is from her living room window.

"You're taking this really well," Suho remarks.

"I don't really know what else to do," she replies honestly, taking a bite of her cereal. She chews thoughtfully, looks over to her textbooks on the coffee table and spots the rifle. She blinks. "I don't really panic... I guess I shut down? I'm too tired to think about this. And you broke into my apartment too."

Jongdae steps into the kitchen. He stares at her refrigerator, then awkwardly at some of her cabinets. She sighs and points to wear she keeps her teas.

"Help yourself," she says too.

They're both watching her. She knows this much to be true; in the last couple of minutes, maybe even the last hour, she's been asked if she's tired or offered that they could do this another way, or something to that effect. At some point, she decides that this is weird but files it away because there are exams, papers, and she does have to work tomorrow.

"We won't be long," Suho tells her. It's a lie. She's already noticed because his face scrunches up and he gets this small, almost endearing wrinkles in his mouth.

Soojung shakes her head. "Do what you need to do," she says. "Just put the toilet seat down and I'm going to start charging you for groceries."

Jongdae laughs.

It's distinct. She does like the sound.

 

 

 

 

On the fourth or sixth day (she isn't counting), she learns the difference between riffles, that a sniper riffle is generic enough for television but when one is cataloguing for reports, there is a variation, a degree, and a number to use.

Suho is less annoying than she gives him credit for. He makes breakfast. He waits for her downstairs when she walks back from her shift at the coffee shop. He takes her bag from and the older woman that lives underneath her tells her in the elevator, one more, thank _god_ , you have a boyfriend or something like that. It makes her blush and she carries the heat along her cheeks and throat, long enough to make into the apartment and to breeze past Suho and Jongdae in the hallway.

It's a bizarre interruption. She tells no one, of course. She acclimates quickly. Which is weird. Not that she could lie about it either; she's a terrible enough liar, passable when necessary. Like when Jongdae walks with her to school and she has to push him into alley when she recognizes someone, which is stupid and she is so not that girl. She catalogues all these things though: she remembers nooks and crannies, habits like when Jongdae gets frustrated, he gets silent and stoic, in the kind of way that makes her worry impulsively and pulls hard at her insides; there is Suho too, who teases her with his real name, even though she swears and swears and _swears_ she doesn't care, who smiles behind her back because she doesn't let him live it down and it makes the time pass.

This would be her life, she thinks.

"Here."

She's made coffee in the kitchen. She pokes Jongdae in the shoulder, hanging him a cup as he puts down his tools. He's wiring together a motherboard.

"Tea's not going to help you if you fall asleep in the middle of watching ... well, whatever riveting thing my neighbor is doing over there."

"Eating cereal naked," Jongdae replies. Casually too. The corners of her mouth quirk. She thinks she might sort of being in love with him already.

"Well," she says shaking her head. She moves to bring coffee to Suho too. She shoves the sugar into his free hand. "That's a pretty interesting life choice for a serial killer."

Suho snorts. "On what grounds." He looks at her in amusement. "It could be a baseless conclusion."

"I run into him when I come home late from class," she shrugs. "He can barely look anyone in the eye, let alone design any sort of lasting impression. And the ahjummas in our building swear the animals always disappear on the side of the complex."

"Maybe that's the point," Suho argues, his mouth twitching. "Not the dead animals, but ... well, you know."

Soojung sits next to Jongdae. She curls her legs underneath herself, reaching for a blanket. It's on the other side of him and she shifts, carefully reaching over his lap. Her face feels hot. 

She's inexplicably shy then. She feels a little clumsy, curling her fingers around her blanket.

"Maybe," she agrees, swallowing, and Suho looks smug. "But I wouldn't call him a criminal mastermind or a super spy if that were the case --" she points to the rife by Jongdae's feet, shaking her head. "Maybe just socially inept then."

Jongdae laughs. "You're a strange girl," he says.

Soojung blushes.

They manage to settle into some sort of companionable silence. It makes Soojung nervous. She's usually good with silences. This is her own space though and it so out of her control at the moment. Maybe she's being dramatic though, she tells herself. But when her leg brushes against Jongdae's thigh and he just smiles, again, and Suho passes her, ruffling her hair and it doesn't _feel_ like she's being crazy, she wonders if she's just getting used to them. It's stupid and weird, she thinks.

Suho manages a passable excuse to leave though, somewhere between the start of the silence and when Jongdae asks for some more supplies. She's not really pay attention. Her brain is just telling her to solve x for y and that she is going to have to reschedule her appointment with her advisor for later in the week.

Somewhere behind her, the door shuts and Jongdae puts down the motherboard he is working on.

"I'm sorry," he says.

She blinks, looking up from her book. "For what?" she asks.

"This," he says. Then he jerks a hand back to where Suho was standing earlier. "And hyung -- there's a lot on the line."

"I gathered that," she says dryly. "I'm not stupid."

He smiles softly. Reaching forward, his fingers press at her bangs.

"I never said you were," he tells her.

Her face is hot. She's sort of wide-eyed, even lost as he watches her. It makes her feel a little heavy, a little confused, and thank god, she's gone and checked his badge a couple of times to reassure herself.

She shakes her head. "He's a little frazzled," she says quietly. Soojung can put two and two together, between the hushed, low whispers she's walked in on occasionally and Jongdae's strange ease when going with Suho's decisions. The hierarchy between them is easily unspoken.

"Yeah," Jongdae says. "That's one way of putting it --" he gets serious and his fingers move to her jaw, his hand dropping somewhere between them. "He's had a rough year," he tells her. "You're a little strange, but I'm glad you're going with it."

"What else can I do?" she says weakly.

"True," he agrees. "It doesn't change anything though." He motions around her apartment. "This is your space. I would be angry too."

From what she understands, Jongdae is a little too polite for his own good, he might even be the one that takes care of everyone, given the nature of how he hovers around Suho from time to time and than, of course, _this_ conversation. But when he looks at her, she feels like it's almost a little surreal, like she's really looking at him, like he's not hiding from her, but she's not supposed to be seeing who this man is.

She shifts her gaze away, rubbing her hand against her knee. "You make me nervous," she half-blurts, her face flushing again.

Jongdae laughs. That low, amused sound that's somewhere between breathy and surprised -- that sound that she's come to associate him with.

"I did break into your house," he says dryly. "I didn't do a good job either."

She shakes her head, her hair falling into her eyes as she sneaks a glance at him. "Not like that," she says. "I don't know. I don't know how to explain it."

It feels awkward and rambling, almost like she's confessing but not quite. All sensibility and awareness has left her head. She knows that she's alone with him, she can reason with that; she can also put together and accept that her apartment feels inexplicably smaller, dangerous and even a little heavy with just him here.

"Don't," he tells her. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

He leans away and reaches for his coffee.

"Stay outside of this as much as you can, Soojung-ah. That's what I can do for you. I don't know how to do anything else."

Her skin feels raw. Her throat is tight and rationally, of course, she understands what he is saying and why he is saying it too. She would say the same thing to herself, of course. 

But her mouth opens and closes. The words start and form and she thinks about his laugh again, then his fingers and how they felt against the plane of her jaw. It just slips and falls from her mouth. Her words feel a little sharp. 

Soojung looks away. "Whatever you say, oppa."

It's embarrassing.

 

 

 

 

Sooyeon calls when she is getting ready to leave for the grocery store. There is a sharp excitement in her voice; it's enough to make Soojung pause and lose her keys.

"Mom thinks you have a boyfriend," her older sister says, amused. "I told her that I would be the first to know if that were the case. So --"

"Of course," she cuts her off, voice dry. She looks at Jongdae, standing in her kitchen. She meets Suho's gaze over his shoulder too. "Tell her I have two," she says suddenly. Both of them flinch. "And they have guns," she adds. "Dad won't have to worry and keep sending me baseball bats."

"Yah," Sooyeon says with laughter, "did you hit one of them?"

Soojung eyes Suho, shaking her head. Yes, she almost says. 

"No," she says, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm just doing a favor for some classmates -- tell mom to stop listening to the little old lady in the building.

She hangs up to Sooyeon's continuous laughter, feeling a little better, feeling a lot more longing; it's funny, but as crazy as this is, the two of them have each other and Soojung can't even say anything.

"I'm going to study," she says to them both. She sweeps her bag behind her shoulder and grabs her laptop off the computer. She won't let herself look at Jongdae. "Please don't put any bullet holes in my windows unless you're sure that you can promise me my security deposit if I have to move out."

Suho scoffs and hides a laugh. Jongdae is a little more serious. She doesn't look at him still, manages to walk towards the hallway and her bedroom, and then starts to imagine a little bit of smile. 

Don't get too attached, she tells herself. Jongdae was honest. Upfront. She would usually appreciate that.

It's too late though. She can think in equations and pieces of the human body. She think form and functionality, walk you down the rationalizations of case studies and count off medical history using her fingers, when reciting certain dates and times and things. Theorizing is going to get her nowhere; the truth is that with no choice, she's opened her space and here they are, either unwilling to understand or she's just at a loss to let go.

She's nervous, she realizes when she reaches the door of her bedroom.

She hates that.

 

 

 

It's petty, of course, but she texts Suho that she has left the apartment, even though she breezed by them both on her way out. Just going to the corner store, she says. Even though she isn't and is making the trek to another store four blocks away and only carrying some money, her keys, and one of her textbooks for no other reason but to lie herself into studying.

Ten minutes later, she gets a text: _okya 5ine_.

Eleven minutes later, she gets another text: _i mean fine. i don't know what that wuz. bring me back a drink_.

Twelve minutes after, she gets another text and she is sitting outside, waiting for her ramen to cook. _ru mad i didn't give you money_ , he says because of course, he would -- he's just as awkward as she is, she thinks.

Soojung laughs. She's losing it.

Her hand covers her mouth and she knows she can't just sit here. It's weird. If she were a bigger person, an angrier person, she'd show up at Amber's and just take the couch, she'd call her sister and say that she sort of likes this guy but, well, it's weird and the situation is a little too strange to wrap her head around anyway.

She's never liked anyone like this, she tells herself. Even though she doesn't think that this is what is happening.

Instead, she finds herself throwing out her ramen -- stupid, of course -- she buys three inside, grabs a couple of drinks, and sends a text to be a brat: _just order chicken_. She pays for everything and slides her phone into the back of her jeans. She'll take her time, she tells herself.

The sidewalk back is pretty bare, a lot more than she remembers. She needs to stop leaving her apartment angry, she tells herself, and wraps her sweater around herself a little tighter. It's impulsive, but she remembers a short cut through the park and nearly trips over herself jogging across the street.

The lights are there, a little too low for her liking and really, she thinks, thank god she wasn't working tonight. Her sneakers scuff into the pavement and she doesn't know why she's suddenly nervous about walking back. She's done this forever, she tells herself.

And then she hears it:

The footsteps are close enough for her to be aware, really aware, that she should keep moving, that her steps need to be fast and light because whoever is behind her is keeping up. Her nails dig into her sweater and she takes a turn at a bench, stepping out into a new sidewalk and street. Her building faces her across the street too. The hairs against the back of her neck are prickling; she's biting her lip hard enough, chanting in her head _you're fine you're fine you're fine_ because a car passes and she moves behind it, crossing the street.

She doesn't know when Jongdae appears, or if he was waiting for her, or if she just simply imagines it. But he's there, suddenly, and she knows that to be true, ignoring the fact that her bag slips out of her hand and she is dragging herself to him.

Her face hits against his chest and her arms are wrapping around his waist before she can say to herself _this isn't you_.

"I think someone was following me," she says quietly. Her hands are shaking against his back.

She feels his mouth in her hair. "I thought you were going to the corner store," he replies. "I was coming to get you."

He doesn't push her away. It takes her a minute to absorb. His mouth moves from her hair to her forehead. His fingers find the back of her neck and he strokes the skin calmly, slowly, almost lazily; it makes her head spin.

"You're okay," Jongdae murmurs.

"How do you know?" She's pushy and he laughs. Her eyes squeeze shut. "It's like telling me my apartment isn't haunted. I have ghosts you know."

"Well," he says dryly, "it isn't and that was mostly hyung's fault." His lips curl. "Can't speak to the ghosts though. I think you do have a mice problem."

Soojung hits his chest. Jongdae laughs and she breathes, following the sound. Her ears are ringing and maybe, she tells herself, maybe you were imagining it. But there is a distinct feeling when you're being followed and her energy is all over the place, waiting, almost, for something to snap. She refuses dignify the feeling though and feels herself burrow further against him, completely out of character and a little desperate. She hates that, but the facts remain true: someone was following her.

"You're okay," he still says. His voice is low. "I promise."

His fingers lace through hers. He takes a step backwards and pulls her forward.

Soojung is tired enough to let him.

 

 

 

 

About her: Soojung is not that girl. She is awkward with her feelings, impulsively shy with confessions, and hides behind an arsenal of things. Her sister thinks it's some kind of cute complex. Her parents tell her that it's going to make her an astounding doctor, that feelings have nothing to do with resetting arms, sewing up wounds, or telling someone that they are going to die.

But when she comes home to a scene, half smelling like a coffee shop, buried in an old sweatshirt -- it all seems unnecessary when she finds Jongdae on her couch, gripping his shoulder and bleeding through her fingers, to Suho bruised and nursing what looks like to be a broken arm, something in her snaps into motion.

"What the actual fuck," she says, really says, as she throws her bag to the floor and kicks off her sneakers. Her apron from work tumbles out and she picks it up, ripping a few strips of fabric from it. It's also pure adrenaline that leads her to the contingency kit her mother always fills when she visits; it's in a drawer by one of Sooyeon's decorative mirrors that she couldn't bring to New York.

"Sorry," Jongdae says weakly, or tries to joke. He gives her that smile and her throat starts to dry. "Your couch --" He swallows. "It's a nice couch."

"Suho-oppa can buy me another one," she snaps, kneeling by him first. She kicks at Suho's leg to move away; he cradles his arm and glares. "I don't want to know," she says flatly. Her eyes are filled with an apology. Her hands tremble. "Seriously, you two," she breathes.

In awhile, she'll piece some things together. Her front door is going to come off its hinge. The window in her bathroom is broken too.

She digs her fingers into the medical kit, pulling out some thread and the needle. She stands again and grabs a bottle of alcohol that was left behind by one of her eonnis. They won't miss it, she thinks.

"Drink," she orders Jongdae, who only complies, half-wincing and forcing smiles. When he finishes, she dumps some onto her hands and the needle, then passes the rest of the bottle to Suho. "You too, oppa. You'll hate me in a few minutes," she says.

He takes a swing from the bottle. "I won't," he says seriously.

Soojung can't think about the look that he gives her either.

Everything is a thousand times faster, magnified by her need to fix everything. She's done basic first aid. She's certified. She helped out at the local clinic near her grandparents' house. Her hands are moving though, the thread pulling together Jongdae's wound.

"You should be at a hospital," she says through her teeth.

"We can't," Jongdae tells her, then hisses when she kneels into him. "We _can't_ ," he breathes again. "We're undercover --"

"Yah," Suho snaps next to her. " _Enough_."

"I don't care," she breathes. "I don't care what is going on -- you're hurt."

Her eyes are burning and she has to focus. She can't think about anything else. She talks herself through the process again, even as she's finishing. Clean the injury. Make sure your tools are sanitized. Talk to the patient.

"You too," she croaks, back at Suho. "You don't get to decide what you cannot tell me and can. I have respected the goddamn line, but right now, right now if you _remind me_ , I will make this as painful as possible to make sure that both of you shut _up_."

She has no idea what the hell is going to happen next. It's appropriate; this is how they came into her life anyway, disjointed and confusing, terrifying and full of secrets. She cannot think of the nature of their job. She won't. 

When she finishes with Jongdae, she leans back onto her knees. Her hair falls into her eyes. Her eyes are still burning. She bites her lip, then reaches forward and smoothes her fingers over his shoulder.

It takes her another minute, but she realizes that there is blood on her hands.

"I am not a doctor," she says, swallowing.

Jongdae's eyes are dark, his gaze even more guarded. She watches as he flexes his arm and then nods towards Suho. She shuffles forward on her knees, pushing closer to him without thinking.

"I'm going to do the best I can," she says quietly, and Suho laughs, his voice cracking. Sweat gathers against his forehead. "I've never done this before," she murmurs. She rolls her shoulders into a shrug. "So, um, sorry, I guess."

"This'll be a good story for your next date," he tells her. "I reset some guy's arm, gave another stitches in my living room -- what do you do again?"

Her face is hot. "You're not some guy," she says quietly. She can't look at either of them. "Neither are you, oppa."

Her fingers gently curl around Suho's arm. He spreads his legs and she shifts, leaning closer. She grabs the bottle of alcohol and shoves it into his hand.

"Drink it," she mutters, and he obeys.

Behind him, Jongdae watches from the couch. He struggles to lay back and she wonders, if anything, should she asks -- no, she tells herself, _no_. No questions.

"Okay," she says. This is more for herself. "Okay," she repeats. Her eyes are dark when she meets Suho's gaze. "You need to go to a doctor," she says. "You need to promise me --"

Alcohol sticks to his mouth. There's a glint and he exhales, almost shuddering.

"Okay," he manages, echoing her. "Okay. Just do the best you can."

"Fine," she answers.

Soojung will try not to think about it. She will replay all of this at a different time, in a different place. She will tell herself: you did what you could, consider this a test. She will never admit to how terrified she really is.

On the couch, Jongdae manages a smile in her direction. Don't lie to me anymore, she wants to say.

Instead, Soojung pulls.

 

 

 

"You're okay," Jongdae says later, quietly, almost too quietly -- she doesn't hear most of what he says.

They're in the kitchen. She put Suho in her bedroom, after resetting his arm. They both need to go to a hospital; they both refused. She thinks she's going to throw up. Her hands aren't shaking anymore, but she wants to hit something. The wall. Either one of them. 

There isn't enough alcohol left in the bottle anyway.

"This is no good." She reaches for a glass, finally. For water, sure. It slips somewhere between the cabinet and her hand. It happens in slow motion; the glass hits and splits all over the floor, near her feet. "This is no good," she repeats, and she's losing it because she's shaking hard.

"I'm sorry."

It takes her a minute to realize that she's kneeling, paused over the pile of broken glass. Her hands are still covered in blood, sticky with alcohol. She could have sworn she was going to go wash them. She feels her throat tighten. She needs water, she thinks.

Jongdae is right next to her though. His hands curl around hers.

"You're going to make a great doctor," he says. She looks up and he's serious. "I'll go get checked out in the morning. When you're in class."

"I'm not going to class," she manages. Then she swallows. Her throat still burns. "What happened," she half-asks. It doesn't sound right; the words taste jumbled and hard.

"We screwed up," he replies. His hands move to her face. She freezes. His thumb slides over her lip. "We'll do better," he promises. His hands move to her hair. She doesn't know what to do with that.

Then he says the most dangerous thing of all:

"I won't let anything happen to you, Soojung-ah."

It takes her a minute to acknowledge, another to breathe, and one more for her mouth to open. She doesn't make a sound. She doesn't say anything, but her eyes begin to burn.

"I mean it," he murmurs.

And then, suddenly, she is on her toes, pressing up to full height to lean against him. Her fingers curl in his shirt and she forgets about his shoulder. Forgets that Suho is down the hall, sleeping.

"You say the prettiest things." Her throat is dry. "I can't decide if it's annoying or --"

He laughs. "You're trouble," he tells her.

There's a long pause, like they're both each other for some kind of reason. Hers starts to manifest right there, as she touches her mouth, her fingers shy, and then just leans in and kisses him.

There's a soft sound. She doesn't know who it comes from. He feels surprised and his arm adjusts so that his hand drops against her waist, turning them so that she's leaning against the counter and he's leaning over her.

The kiss is slow, then she acknowledges that it's a kiss, a real kiss, and his mouth opens into hers to take over. He's half-demanding, half-patient, and she pulls herself onto her toes again because she just needs to feel that he's real. She's all teeth, bitting gently to hear some of the sounds -- he makes soft sighs and low breaths from the back of his throat. His hips push forward too and maybe that's too fast, maybe she should stop and say something.

But kissing him is nearly extraordinary, something she does not expect, that she pulls apart in her head, layer by layer, memorizing the little sounds and how he moves over her, trying to keep her close. When he breaks away first, her mouth is hot and wet and she tastes a little of the alcohol.

Somewhere behind them, the coffee maker timer goes off. Her eyes close.

"No give backs," she orders, croaks too.

They are both trembling.

 

 

 

 

 

Suho wakes up late; she doesn't sleep. She's skipped class, waits until Jongdae decides to leave -- "I have to check in," he tells her -- and makes herself coffee in the kitchen, from the coffee maker she's used at least _twice_ in three years. She has a voicemail from both Sooyeon and Amber, each sharing the same, distinct amount of worry that she so cannot handle right now. What's going on, one of them says. Are you okay, she can almost hear them both say. There are no answers though.

She brings Suho crackers and ginger ale from the corner store, dressing them up on a silver serving plate that she found in her hall closet. He looks amused when she enters the bedroom, sleepy and about a million years too young.

"You need to eat," she says seriously, but hands him the ginger ale first. It's her room and she doesn't know what to do with her hands either. "I'm not actually a doctor, you know."

"Yet," he quips.

Soojung scowls. "You're lucky you're injured," she mutters and looks away.

She sits at the edge of the bed. She's close, but not too close. She wrings her hands in her lap and tries to think about what she's going to email her professor. 

"I'm sorry."

She blinks. Her head turns and he's serious, watching her.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. Then he tries to sit up. He struggles and she shifts forward, guiding him to lean against the pillows. He grunts and downs the ginger ale. "It's not the worst I've gone through," he says lightly.

"You're not helping," she says.

Her hands fall back. She's closer now. She reaches for his cup and puts it on the tray.

"It's Joonmyun."

Soojung blinks again. "What?"

"My name," he says. "Joonmyun," he repeats, shrugging a little. "Since you call me oppa already, I guess."

He's awkward. The corners of her mouth turn and she rubs her hands against her legs.

"Joonmyun-ssi," she repeats, formal as ever. He scoffs and her mouth twists further. "Joonmyun-oppa," she tries.

When she meets his gaze, his cheeks are flushed. She laughs a little and he looks away, shrugging.

"Look," he starts.

"I like it," she interrupts.

Something changes in his expression. He's smiling and she knows that it's as real as it can be.

"I'm not a good guy," he tells her.

Soojung shrugs. "I don't know that," she says honestly. Then she's a little more open. "I don't believe it either."

He's watching her and reaches forward, brushing her hair behind her ear. It's just as intimate as kissing her and she doesn't really understand why. There's something in a name. She's always believed that. But his hand lingers too and moves along her jaw, down her throat and to collarbone. They linger and then spread over her skin.

"It's hard to believe you're real," he tells her. "I wish I could go beyond being ambiguous too -- you deserve that. I should be able to give you that."

He does not say things like 'i'm sorry' or smile or open herself up to her. She feels like she has to earn it; she feels like she's only going to get parts of him anyway. She can appreciate it. Maybe they're too similar. That in itself is terrifying.

She reaches out, lacing their fingers together. She looks away. She isn't good at this. She knows that much.

"Stop trying too hard, oppa."

Suho merely smiles. She can hear it in his voice too. She won't ask, she promises herself. She won't.

"I like when you say my name," he says.

It's becoming complicated.

 

 

 

 

It's a warm night when she gets out of class.

She's missed the requisite two, staying home to make sure that both Jongdae and Suho go to the doctor's -- or at least fight with them to -- since it's the only way she can say she's worried without actually having to say the words or understand what the hell is really going on.

"You should take the bus," Amber tells her as they walk out of class. Soojung spins around, smiling with an awkward wave in the road where they split. "Seriously," Amber pushes. "I'll wait for you."

Soojung shakes her head. She reminds herself to call her sister too. "I'll be fine," she answers. "It's faster if I walk anyway. I may stop by work too. I think I left my phone charger there."

It's a lie. Amber sighs, eyeing her. She doesn't push. It's the best friend thing to do, after all. "Fine," she says reluctantly. "But let me know when you get home and like, not when you're standing in the middle of the creepy park -- I want photographic proof, dude. So I know that you're not dead, okay?"

Soojung's mouth twists in amusement. She waves again, pulling her bag closer to her body. She repeats what she needs to do in her head: she should probably actually stop by work to check her schedule at least; walk home, make dinner, and hope that the two idiot cops that have been living rent free in her apartment are in one piece. Because she's worried and all.

She walks through the rest of campus then, slipping in her earbuds and makes sure to text Jongdae that she is going home and that she is _okay_. She opens a message to Suho's name too, doesn't type anything, and rolls into his contact information. She isn't actually playing any music; she hesitates for a second, changes his name to 'joonmyun' and '-_____-' because she can, and smiles when she closes out of his information.

There, she thinks. She'll take small bits of reality anyway.

As she exits the campus, she spots the bus rolling by. She watches someone run after it, shakes her head and moves past the seating area. She opens her music on her phone and hums along, trying to decide on the song that she wants to listen to.

She was almost a singer. She was almost a lot of things. Sooyeon is the braver sister though and Soojung seems to hog all of the pragmatism anyway. But that's a distant thought and she crosses the street, making a turn into a small corner.

The lights are few and fewer on this one area. It's a cluster of houses that spills into a narrow group of shops. It's really pretty during the day, but at night, it turns into a bunch of eerie corners and silence, which she hates. She walks fast, pulling her jacket closer. 

One of her earbuds falls out. They stumble and trip into the ground. She curses, stopping to pick them up and wrap them around her phone. She jumps when she hears something behind her; half-turning, she spots someone get into their car, turning up the small street and going the wrong way.

"Idiot," she mutters.

Her skin starts to crawl. She tells herself it's the street. But much like the feeling she had when she was followed home that one night, something screams _wrong_.

She turns and her vision blurs.

The only thing she remembers is this: she sees spots, blue and bright, and then it's the ground as her knees give out. The back of her head is wet.

Soojung does not scream.

 

 

 

 

Her eyes open.

The side of her face is sticky. Her vision swims as her mind begins to piece together the facts. You were walking home. You were stupid and went through the shortcut. There was someone. That's all you remember. Soojung forces herself to breathe.

She is sitting alone, she realizes next. She is facing a wide window. She feels something slide into her eyes, pulling at her wrists. They're tied tightly behind her. It's climbing rope; it's a memory from that time Sunyoung, her old roommate, dragged her to rock climbing and the gym -- your health, she had exclaimed, bright-eyed too. She hasn't talked to Sunyoung in months, she thinks.

"You're awake," someone says. Blinking, she is hazy and aware of the person behind her. She sees a shadow in the glass of the window. The light that frames them blurs her vision too.

Something presses against her mouth. The person is in front of her. Her lips are wet. It's water. 

"I didn't have a choice," the person says. She chokes and swallows. There are fingers at her temple. "They made me react this way. I didn't want to hurt you."

Her eyes clear enough to see the glass tip back. There are fingers against the back of her neck and her head is guided back to so she can drink again.

When Soojung swallows, water spills from her mouth to her lap. Her skin stains with the water. It's cold. She can taste blood when she finally sees his face.

"You --" she croaks, and then recognizes her neighbor. She forces herself to breathe. Over his shoulder, she can see her apartment. The lights are on, but no one is watching. "Two --," she manages, "A."

The man smiles. "That's me."

It's strange how quickly reality comes to her. It's not painful; she's almost removed from it too. She tells herself: this is the situation, this is where you are, and now, now how are you going to get out.

"My head," she manages.

"I hit you pretty hard," he agrees.

She pulls at her wrists again. "You shouldn't have," she says.

"Would you have been agreeable then?" There's humor in his voice and it unnerves her, pulling at the deep unease she reserves for certain people. She's always been that careful around people, carried into a six sense that she just can't explain.

"No," she manages then. She blinks back her dizziness. "Why am I here?"

He looks amused. He looks different. She tries to piece together what she knows of him. He's always made her uneasy. But she talks herself down and starts to focus on a spot behind his head, watching, hoping to see something in her apartment.

"They're not there," the man tells her. "I waited too."

And then, it starts to hit her. She can only depend on herself. She's resourceful. She's not stupid either.

"Fuck," she breathes. " _Fuck_."

"I am sorry," he explains to her, then stands. "It's rather cheap that I resort to this."

He leaves her like this.

 

 

 

 

Soojung waivers in and out of consciousness. She assesses what she can: she has a concussion, her ankle is probably bruised but not badly enough to hinder any sort of escape. She tells herself _be smart_ and manages to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness, picking out options in the room. There is a plank of wood by the window. She could break the glass. She has a psychology paper due in two days and she is not going to break any of her grades for this _creep_.

Pulling at her wrists, she weighs and tests the amount of pain. She could slip out of the knots; he's left alone for long enough. She weighs that option too. But he could be waiting and she does not want to give any excuse for this guy to kill her in anyway.

She thinks of Jongdae. She thinks of Suho. She can't let this fall on either one of them.

"Could I get some water?" she calls, voice breaking. Something drops in the other room. "Please," she manages when there are footsteps behind her.

This time, the hand against the back of her neck is warm. It's not forceful, but firm enough to scare her. His fingers curl into her neck and he tips her head back.

"Here," he coos. She tries to swallow the bile rising in the back of her throat back down with the water. "That's a good girl."

His hand rises and brushes her bangs from her eyes. Her eyes burn again. No, she tells herself. _Don't you dare_.

"It's too bad," he says lazily. "You haven't asked my name."

"Two a," she answers, and he laughs. She's careful enough to tug at her wrists again. "You never stopped to offer it either," she pushes back. Just a little.

The man laughs again. Her fingers work quickly enough through the easy knots, slipping out and barely managing to not touch or alert him as she tries. The biggest problem is going to be the final knot, she thinks. And then the glass.

"True," the man agrees. "You do live on the other side. You walk home too late, Soojung-ah. The owner tells me that she worries about you all the time."

Soojung sighs. Her right hand is further than her left. Fuck it, she thinks.

"She shouldn't worry about me," she says.

And maybe it's timing, maybe it's just pure luck or instinct or _whatever_. The glass in front of her explodes and the window shatters. She falls backwards and onto her side, her legs swinging out and kicking at the man hard.

He cries out and then she hears the second shot, vaguely acknowledging that it's a second shot. Her mind blanks out and her hand is free, the rope dangling from the other. She's sticky and wet still, dragging her knees against the floor as she grabs the closest piece of glass and swings her arm into the man.

She does not think.

"Well." The man is over her, hovering. Her hand hasn't moved. " _Well_."

His eyes are bright, eerie enough to be blue and he smiles when glass sinks right into his heart. Soojung did not miss. She pushes her fingers into the glass and the skin splits. She's shaking and he falls backwards.

It's almost to surreal to acknowledge. Her limbs are everywhere, kind of like a doll. There's shouting and she sees the man just lie there, bleeding out and smiling. She thinks she's crying too and then there are hands in her hair and she's being pressed into someone's shoulder, then chest. She doesn't scream.

Her parents will be so disappointed, she thinks. Her hands are supposed to heal.

Her vision blurs soon after.

 

 

 

 

Hospitals have such a distinct smell. 

It's sterilizing; when she wakes up, the smell is easier to pick out than what she sees: just white walls and wires coming out of her wrists on both sides. She can smell gunpowder too, but as she shifts and struggles to sit up, she realizes it's nothing but a memory, a small and impossible one.

Her eyes fight to adjust and she sees a bag with clothes in the corner of the room, some books and another bag. Her mother's here, she thinks. Or her sister.

When the door opens, she cannot hide her surprise when Jongdae walks in.

"Hi," he says.

Her throat burns. "Hi," she greets.

"Let me get a doctor," he tells her, stepping back.

"No!" Her hands twist into the blankets. "No," she says again, looking down and quieting. "Wait a minute."

Her mouth purses together. He moves to the bed and sits at her side, closer than she expects. He takes one of her hands. It takes another minute to realize that he's shaking.

"I'm sorry," he tells her and she stares at his hands. There are burns on his fingers, blisters too. She doesn't know why she hasn't put it together yet; he's a sniper, she thinks. Snippets of conversations come back. Moments where Suho teased him for being such a straight shot.

She looks up at him. Her bangs fall into her eyes too.

"You killed him," she says.

Jongdae's mouth narrows. "No," he says. He does not say: _you did_. "He's alive," he answers too. His voice is coarse. "You didn't hit him hard enough."

"That's good, I guess," she murmurs, looking away.

But then he stops her, his hands curling around his face. She's still shaky. Her head is starting to spin. But he's looking at her, right at her, refusing to hide all of the sudden and she cannot look away.

He leans in and kisses her. Then he kisses her again. And again.

"This is why," he breathes into her mouth, "I didn't want to get too close."

She wants to ask him what that means.

She kisses him softly instead and her hand finds his again, curling her fingers over his because she cannot think of anything else to do. When they break apart, her forehead rests against his.

"I'm okay," she says quietly.

"You've been asleep for a couple of days."

"Joonmyun-oppa?"

There's laughter in Jongdae's voice. "On his way back," he says. "There's a lot of paperwork. Another member of team is probably coming with him. They're going to want to talk to you."

"No more secrets," she says. It's abrupt and unapologetic. It feels new. "Please," she adds.

He looks at her. His gaze is a little brighter. She cannot understand the kind of relief that she sees on his face, how open and honest it is and why it is. This is a mess, she thinks, and then she's grateful. Maybe it's better to navigate.

This isn't perfect. She knows it's not meant to be; the reality is somewhere between he's a stranger, a stranger that's a really good kisser, and those lines have been blurred with a name, a promise, and the fact that he's the first one that she's woken up to. She thinks of Suho then. She expects he's not far behind.

She doesn't need the answers right now. Soojung breathes too. She's alive.

"We'll tell you together," he promises.

Her fingers tighten over his hand. She shifts to lay back into bed.

"I'd like that," she says.

She cannot think of them in any other way.

 

 

 

 

It takes weeks to heal. She does not go back to her apartment. Her laptop is broken. Sooyeon comes home and cries in bed next to her, tells her that if she ever keeps secrets like this again, she'll kill her herself -- or something to that effect. It just makes her curl into her sister a little longer, a little more, and be grateful for everything.

She also gets an extension on a couple of papers and a health leave for some of her class; she is the unnamed girl in the kidnapping ordeal, according to the papers. The worst kept secret on campus, who came face to face with a serial killer (or so they say) and lived. The truth of the matter is a little different. Her answers are in the paper too. She also walks into the police station, meets the head of homicide, gets offered a job ("Don't listen to him," Suho tells her sourly, but then that's an idea) and a pat on the head for thinking quickly on her feet and saving their budget from this prologued operation. It's weird sense of celebrity. It makes her uncomfortable, but she leaves it alone. She doesn't know anything else, after all.

Jongdae moves her into their place though. He doesn't ask. He takes her suitcase, puts a few boxes of books into his car, tells her mother that he's taking responsibility and there is, of course, Suho's hand on the edge of her hip.

"I guess they're dating. I told you I wasn't lying, mama," Sooyeon comments behind her, laughter in her voice as Soojung turns bright red. There's a secondary, silent comment about her girlfriend, but Sooyeon is just being her sister and that is exactly what she needs.

"We're a lot better than baseball bats," Suho says, grinning when she almost hits him with her good arm. "And we owe your daughter, after all."

"I guess I could collect," Soojung mutters, and her sister is sent into peals of laughter, even as she is surround by both men.

Her mother won't talk to her daughters for a week. Both Jongdae and Suho will get invitations for Christmas though. It's bewildering, at best, but then again, her mother is always quick to be that practical.

Soojung still believes in signs.


End file.
